The Data Collector
by KobeNiku
Summary: Having never come across his idol, All Might, 20-year old Izuku Midoriya works as a data analyst at a firm that sells information on Quirks to businesses. Gathering data is a tough job but he seems to have a constant stream of info to compile into datasets, much to the bewilderment of his co-workers. He says its from observation, but he prefers a more...hands-on approach.
1. Nightcall

He dreamed of joining the world of heroes. Such awe-inspiring men and women that swooped in to save you in your time of need. However, as the droning hum of the whirring fans of the office computer reminded him, not even entering the most prestigious school in all of Japan could help him be the hero that he desperately wanted to become. All Might was right. He had no chance of becoming one.

"Hey, Midoriya!" a co-worker called out. "You're working overtime again?"

"Yeah," he answered without turning from his computer. "Just need to finish up this Quirk analysis dataset."

"Seriously? Another dataset?" the co-worker asked. "I get that you graduated top of your class for Gen. Ed. in U.A but how in the heck do you even _find_ that much fresh Quirk data?!"

The computer fans droned for a while. "Observations, I guess. You know, watching the news, reading up on new Hero stats and what not."

"…and you're expecting me to believe that you've been gathering all of that from just that? Come on, there must be something else you're doing to get 'Employee of the Year' three times in a row and you've only been here for that long!"

"…yes."

With a quick "OK", his co-worker left, leaving him the only soul in the office building. He never minded the solitude as it gave him the peaceful environment he liked. Not that he hated his co-workers or anything because they were all good drinking friends, but they reminded him too much of the reality of the world that he lived in. Society favoured the ones born fortunate and it did not matter whether you had a Quirk.

Everyone in the office building was either Quirkless like himself or unlucky enough to have a Quirk that was deemed useless like glowing in the dark once every two Tuesdays. On the other hand, since the passing of his idol, it seemed that only your Quirk mattered in the eyes of the people as the current No.1 hero across Japan was none other than his childhood tormentor, Katsuki Bakugou. It ached his heart every time he checked his spam folder only to find some article from some tabloid paper about the controversies and scandals the man he once called Kacchan was rolled up in. Once upon a time, he would be happy for him. He would look on in silence as his friend streaked flames across the sky to rescue a poor soul.

Not anymore. Murderers did not deserve that respect. The families destroyed that day under the audacious claim of 'collateral damage' had every right to protest this tyranny. The media may try to convince the public that a gas explosion was responsible, but they knew his temper, especially Midoriya.

A light ping shaking him out of his thoughts, he checked the new email that popped into his inbox. He checked the time and decided against reading it to finish up the dataset.

 **xxx**

"We want change! Reform the system now! We want change! Reform the system now!"

An ocean of people swarmed the mayor's office holding placards demanding the reformation of the hero system. It was not too far from the building where he worked so their chants could be heard loud and clear.

Walking past them, he stopped by a convenience store to pick up a newspaper and a microwaveable lunch set for tomorrow.

"Again with the instant lunch set?" the middle-aged cashier grumbled. "You should eat healthier, son. One of these days, your veins are going to clog up and you'll die when you're 30."

Midoriya gave a weak smile. "Eh, if an easy lunch is going to kill me, I wouldn't mind. Better to die on a full stomach than an empty one," he replied, dropping off the appropriate change on the counter.

The cashier looked none too pleased and took out a bag of fresh vegetables from beneath the counter. "Here, take'em," he said while shoving the bag towards him. "A friend of mine had grown a lot of them veggies in preparation for some sort of disaster." He made a swirling motion by his head to emphasise the kind of person his friend was.

"Oh, come on, old timer, I can't keep receiving free stuff from you!", Midoriya laughed as he tried—and failed—to push the bag back. "You've got to make a living somehow, right? Let me buy them off you instead."

"I insist."

Without another word, Midoriya sighed and clutched the bag into his arms. There was just no way to refuse the kind old man. He then turned around, waved goodbye and left for home.

The walk to his apartment suffered no bumps. Aside from the occasional harassment from the hoodlums in the alleyways, he made it to his humble abode unharmed. The hoodlums, teens with Quirks with nothing better to do, never failed at reminding him how much of a useless human being he was for lacking a Quirk. Sometimes it was a splash of water to the face, sometimes a slight burst of flames to make him jump out of the way into a puddle. Either way, they would never resort to physically harming him. They could have easily beaten him to a pulp and they knew it. The only reason they did not do it, he speculated, was because they wanted to get a rise out of him. Get him to make the first move and then they would have a reason to bring the whole gang to pummel him.

How dare the Quirkless filth strike them, right? Untying his necktie, he plopped the bag of vegetables onto his kitchen table and turned on the TV. According to the news, apparently the number of hate crimes against non-heroics Quirk users have steadily increased over the past few years. Made a lot of sense. The No.1 hero lived and breathed discrimination against those beneath him, so this trend was simply nature taking its course. Firms like the one he worked in thrived in this environment as it provided a lot of data for them to process and analyse before selling that information to major security departments and private schools.

Almost as a side note, the news broadcast ended with a brief mention of a new string of murders all over town, involving the gruesome deaths of nameless thugs of the underground.

Tending to the vegetables on the table, he brought the whole bag to the refrigerator and carefully rolled out its contents into the vegetable compartment. As the final tomato plopped into place however, a shrill ring blared from his living room.

It was his home phone.

The clock struck 9pm on the 23rd of March when he picked it up.

' _Hey, it's Shinichi from Pyonta Trash Disposal!'_ said the caller with a cheer. _'We'd like to apologise for leaving a mess near your home. So, would you mind stopping by our office on the 2_ _nd_ _floor of Holden Apartments? C Block, room 302. You will be compensated as our way of apology.'_

With a mechanical click, he set the phone down. He reached for his necktie on the kitchen table and tied it into a crisp Windsor knot before straightening out his beige shirt and black loafers. He then marched out of his apartment and made a beeline for the nearest underground rail station. He would pick up the rest of his things from one of the storage lockers there.

Time to collect some data.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey, KobeNiku here! This concept has been on my mind now for quite a while ever since I've delved deeper into the lore and the world of Hotline Miami. I don't have any further plans of continuing this because it's more like a one-shot idea showcase if anything. Nonetheless, feedback is appreciated!**_


	2. Knock Knock

**_9:30p.m, 23rd March_**

The golden linings of the building's intricate arches atop its roof glinted in the night as the floodlights below shone upon them. The Holden Apartment complex, an opulent structure separated into three distinct blocks, was no home for the average working person. Sharply-dressed guards trained to kill with their Quirks patrolled the premises around the clock and even those without Quirks were armed. Any attempt to break into the luxury apartment complex located in the beating heart of Yokohama's web of the social elite was not only foolish but suicidal as well.

Yet, in the crisp winds of the spring night, in front of C Block of the Holden Apartment complex, one man briskly walked up to the marble staircase that lead up to the entrance. Donning a two-piece business suit, there was not much to the man that separated him from the white-collared men that frequented the place but the immediate unease on the faces of the two guards that manned the entrance spoke volumes.

As he entered the light, the unnatural features of the man's solid plastic mask became clear. An eerie yet comical face that consisted of only two blank circles and a wide grin. Green hair could be seen waving about in the night breeze but the guards, one lunging at him with a baseball bat and the other, his hand changing into a solid rock shard, flung several razor-sharp pieces his way, had no way of noticing this. The rumours of men wearing masks overrode their sense of rationale.

The baseball-bat guard was fast. Faster than the average human. He must have a speed-enhancing quirk or a strength-enhancing quirk that focused on his legs as he closed the distance between the door and the foot of the staircase in less than two seconds. Alas, however fast he may be, no one escaped Newton's brutal law of inertia as a solid punch to the gut stopped him dead in his tracks. With no time to register the urge to hurl his insides out, he then suddenly found himself being spun round at a dizzying pace. The last thing he saw was a hail of sharp rock shards zooming into his eye.

"You bastard!" cried the other guard in shock as he watched his friend slump to the ground like a limp pincushion. But the masked man shared no emotion as his next victim, snatching the baseball ball from the corpse and flinging it to the guard's legs.

He concentrated most of his solidification towards his legs the moment he spotted the incoming bat. He smirked, reluctantly praising the madman for his ingenuity for attempting to bring him down but he realised too late the knee that flew towards his jaw. Staggering back, he tried regaining his bearings, but the masked man shoved him to the ground. Noticing the bat in the killer's hands, he spat out his blood and broken teeth and laughed defiantly, "You fool! You think you can beat me to submission? With that flimsy wooden stick? With my Quirk, [Full Crystal], not even bullets can pierce my skin!" His head then became jagged with spikes protruding from his face.

"And yet, your tongue remains soft," uttered the masked man, raising the bat up as though it were a stake.

"H-hey now…I-I told you! It's pointless, so give up now—"

An audible crack and muffled wailing entered the masked man's ears, the thick end of the bat jammed firmly into the guard's mouth, bits of whatever teeth remained now on the blood-stained marble or lodged into the back of his throat. His arms and legs flailed around but the weight of the man could not be moved. Blood bubbled up the corners of his baseball bat-filled lips as he began to drown in his own viscera. If left for a while longer, death would have surely come for him. But the masked man wasted no time in sending him off to the Sanzu River by lifting his head off the ground and, using the bat as a lever, twisted it with a violent wet resounding snap. Then, stepping on the guard's mushy neck, he yanked out the bat, creating a splash of blood, teeth and vomit across the pristine white marble floor.

Blood still dripped from the bat when he zipped into the lobby. Much like the marble floor outside, the interior of the lobby was clean and white. Two wooden double doors were on either side of the lobby, presumably ballrooms or event halls. Behind the concierge, he saw two elevators. Behind the concierge's counter, stood the quivering concierge with his hands up in surrender.

"P-please!" he begged, "I only work here, sir! I swear! I don't know anything about what happens behind closed doors so, please!"

The masked man stood motionless for a while, bat in hand. Then, he threw the bat at the concierge's head, knocking him out cold. Approaching the counter to retrieve the bat, he noticed a panic button underneath it along with a sub-machine gun. The button's tell-tale red glow was not present, eliciting a curse from the masked man. Looks like tonight's job was going to be a rushed one. Silver lining: the sub-machine gun was loaded.

Wasting no further time, he ran towards the double doors on his right and kicked them down. Barely noticing the glimpses of human presence from the corners of his eyes, he whipped out the gun and unloaded fresh hot lead with indiscriminate prejudice. Streams of bullets immediately came after him as he zipped along the edges of the dimly-lit bar, sounds of shattered shot glasses and spilled blood mixed together in cacophony. Balls of fire and bolts of electricity occasionally joined in the chaos but the masked man, with his simplistic smile, soldiered on undeterred. When you knew the statistical likelihood of a person having a skin-hardening Quirk by heart, it only meant that the old adage held true: no one can outsmart a bullet. And just like that, the noise ended almost as sudden as how it began.

His black leather shoes became sticky with the ichor of the men that lay dead on the bar's floor as he scoured the place for something useful. Then, he found it: an untouched table and chair. Sitting down, his shoulders relaxed as he fished out a small notepad from his suit pocket along with a pen. Flicking through pages of notes, he came upon a blank page and furiously scribbled down his findings.

The effectiveness of certain emitter quirks in close-quarters; potential weak points that aren't covered by skin-hardening quirks; possible strategies against fire-arms, he jotted them down into his notepad. Any and all information about Quirk usage, even if it meant potentially giving these criminals a better shot at killing him, was to be shared to the public. With one final stroke and a click, he put his notes away and picked up two sub-machine guns off the floor. Although missing a few rounds, the weight of the guns told him that they had enough and marched out of the bar and headed for the next set of double doors.

However, the doors would not budge even after a few hard kicks, so he made a beeline for the elevators. He did hear what he assumed was the muffled cries of a woman in there, though. Hopefully, the poor soul stayed strong or put out of their misery quick. As much as he wanted to burst in and save them, he reminded himself that he was not here to play hero. He could never be a hero. Not like this. The weak swinging tune playing in the elevator did little to help him relax as he positioned himself tightly into the corner closest to the button panel, preparing himself for the moment it reached the third floor.

 _Ding!_

As soon as the elevator doors slid open, a hail of bullets sprayed into the elevator, riddling it with holes. Mixed in with the loud rapid tapping of assault rifle fire, he could hear the clumsy blasts of shotguns as well. Rather odd decision considering their perceived distance from the elevator, but criminal minions were not always the brightest of the bunch. Predictably, the bulletstorm ground to a halt, reduced to a melodic harmony of 'click, click's like crickets on a summer night. And when there's crickets, there was bug spray and he took this chance to burst out of the corner he hid in and let his dual SMGs sing.

The men that stationed themselves in front of the elevator, too caught up with reloading their weapons, were mowed down by the onslaught. Some seemed to wave and wobble with every bullet taken like a macabre dance. It certainly helped that the hallway was narrow and served to bottleneck each new wave of henchmen whenever they dashed out of the many rooms on either side. They just kept coming and coming until the hallway was met with silence.

The only sounds that bounced of its walls were the moans of the men that survived and the tell-tale clicks from his guns. The place was almost clear. Tossing away his spent weapons, he calmly walked along the hallway, looking for room 302. Then, he glanced at his wristwatch.

9:40p.m.

Not bad. The authorities usually respond to panic button calls within 20-30 minutes. He had some time to kill. So, he took it upon himself to euthanise every survivor down to the last man regardless of how close they were to death, one neck at a time. It never filled him with any satisfaction when he did so because it did not feel right. In some weird way, he felt that they were human too and did not need to suffer for long, despite his line of work. The plain design of his mask never failed to unnerve them, though, so there was bound to be a straggler or two that tried to crawl away in terror, much to his annoyance.

'What was so terrifying about a smiley face?' he thought as he finally found room 302. He stopped to listen for any commotion. Seemed that only one person was present. Then again, there might be others lying in wait to ambush him. That might be giving the criminals too much credit for creativity though there was always a chance. And he was not one to play dice. Pulling out his silenced pistol from his suit, he kicked the door down only to find a fat man in a suede jacket and mink scarf jump out of fright with handfuls of cash in his hands.

"W-wait! Don't kill me! I've got friends in high places that can help you get rich-!"

Right between the eyes. Mouth-breather did not finish his sentence before dropping to the floor with a new eyehole. The masked man tucked away his pistol and retrieved a gym bag, ignoring the mountain of cash on the table. He glanced at his wristwatch.

9:45p.m.

It was time to go. He briskly walked back towards the elevator and punched in the button to the ground floor. The smooth swinging tune of the music in the elevator would have been a calm end to a hectic night, the metal wall-turned-swiss cheese being the only reminder of tonight's events. However, as he stepped out into the lobby, he noticed that the locked double doors from earlier were now wide open. And standing before him with blood-stained brass knuckles was a heavy-set man with the features of a pig.

"So, you're the one that's been disturbing my nice vacation," he bellowed. "Was nearly done strangling that piece of fine ass too. Guess you'll have to make do, mincemeat!"

With that, he gave chase. The masked man flung the gym bag at him only for it to be swatted away with ease. Keeping his eyes on him, he pulled out his silenced pistol and he fired away, punching holes in his torso and head. To his surprise, the pig-man did not let up.

"That hurt!" he roared as he swung wildly at the masked man. "But it will take more than that puny pea-shooter to kill me! I might not have fancy-schmancy powers like the rest of Hiko's crew, but I was **born** with **thick skin** , fool!"

The masked man narrowly dodged another punch that swung his way and saw it break off a chunk of the concierge's counter. He gulped down a mouthful of spit. Behind his mask, his eyes were wide. There was simply no way a man that rotund could move that fast.

Slinking into the bar, he quickly picked up an assault rifle off the floor and held down the trigger only to be met with the dreaded clicks. Throwing it away, he then lost his footing when he stumbled onto what he felt like a bottle. The pig-man, barrelling towards him with ominous stomps, pummelled his fists to the ground, attempting to crush his skull. He tried rolling away but the pressure from the punches was quickly becoming too much. Hearing the wet squelches after a punch struck a dead henchman, taking a hit was not an answer.

As he rolled closer towards the bar counter, he felt his head thud against a smooth object. He cursed under his breath. Must the same damn bottle that tripped him up. However, when he snatched it in anger, he found out that it was actually a Molotov cocktail! Why on Earth would someone bring such a thing in a place like this?! Then again, these were the same henchmen that thought storming down a narrow hallway against a gunman was a good idea.

"I'll smash your face in!" he heard the pig-man roar as he just rolled away in time. This time, however, he now had a plan. Instead of just rolling, he also tried to rummage the dead men around him for a lighter. 'While not everyone brought a Molotov, there has got to be one smoker!' he thought.

Thankfully, it did not take long for him to find one and he wasted no time lighting up the cocktail and hurling it at the monstrous beast of a man. The moment the glass shattered, and the flames engulfed the pig-man's body, he was reduced to wailing and screaming as he desperately tried to put out the raging fire.

The masked man smirked behind his mask. No matter how thick skin one's skin was, none can ever be fully fire-resistant. He made a note to jot that down in his notepad once he got out. Staggering out of the bar, he went to retrieve the gym bag he threw earlier. As he picked it up, however, he noticed that he could now hear the woman's cries more clearly. He glanced at his watch.

9:50p.m.

The authorities were going to be here any minute. Surely, they would be better suited to deal with this than he did. He might expect to see the news report on a found victim of a kidnapping ring or something. He had no place to interfere.

"Are you going to leave me here to suffer?"

He stopped dead in his tracks. 'That voice…I've heard it before…', he thought.

"At least, finish the job before you go…"

The voice sounded frail and broken but he remembered years ago that the voice used to be one that commanded near authority of class 1-A back in high school. "No, it can't be…" he whispered.

His curiosity getting the better of him, he went inside the dark and dank room where the voice came from. A lone light illuminated an operating table and highlighted a sickening array of torture devices on a wall including a whip, a collection of scalpels and a nail puller. A video camera stood by the operating table. The scene before him alone was enough to shock him but what held his utmost attention was the person atop the table.

Without a shred of cloth to cover her dignity and battered black and blue with bruises and cuts all over her body, only her signature hairstyle clued him in to the identity of the poor soul.

Yaoyorozu Momo. Vice-President of class 1-A and missing Pro-Hero, Creati.

* * *

 ** _12:00a.m, 24th March_**

"Geez, you'd think with how much of an ass the No.1 Hero is being, you'd think that there'd be less gang violence…" muttered Officer Sansa, his cat-ears twitching in disgust. With the head of a cat and the body of a man, that meant that the thick copper smell of blood struck him hard, causing his nose to wrinkle every so often.

"Quite the contrary, Sansa," said Detective Tsukauchi. "If anything, he's exactly the reason why the criminal underground is growing bold. Sure, the people fear criminals and villains but what's the use if they also fear the people that are entrusted to protect them?"

"True, true…" nodded Sansa. "But more importantly, though, is that the freshness in the smell of the blood indicates something unusual, Detective."

"Again?" the weary detective asked incredulously.

"Afraid so. Just by looking at the viscosity of the blood and the lack of any dried-up blood stains, we can tell that we just barely missed catching the culprit in the act. Again."

Tsukauchi clicked his tongue. Ever since he picked up the mantle of investigating the escalating gang violence two years ago, he had always been able to deduce which gang had done it and why. However, every so often, whether it be in the span of a month, a week or even a day, there will always be one case that involved the complete annihilation of a gang hideout. These cases never failed to elude him as the details only get muddier upon closer inspection. Sure, the level of violence involved did seem like your average gang war gone wrong but why were there no traces of another party? No bodies of a member of a rival gang? Might be the work of a hitman but no hitmen were crazy enough to take on gangs of such notoriety. Tonight's case only proved his point.

The Holden Apartments were armed to the teeth with guards yet, judging by the amount of blood spilled and bullet casings strewn about, it looked like the kind of violence the police should have been alerted of a long time ago. Speaking of blood, every time they conducted post-mortem tests or whenever Sansa was free to help, the results were always the same: Everyone died within 30 minutes or less. Didn't matter if there were powerful Quirk users among their ranks. They wound up dead.

"Detective!" called out an officer. "You need to come here quick!"

"What is it?" he replied, snapped out of his dwellings.

"You won't believe this, Detective but we found a survivor!"

* * *

 _ **A/N: Hey there, KobeNiku here! As promised with the results of the polls, I will continue this story for a bit more. Not sure how much longer. Maybe make it a three or four-parter but definitely not a long multi-chapter story. Well, hopefully it meets your expectations considering that some of you voted for more, please enjoy!**_

 _ **And don't forget to leave some feedback if you loved it/hated it!**_


	3. Downtime

Streams of information were swimming in his mind. Every number, name, percentage; all floated around him as his fingers swiftly tapped away at his keyboard, a steaming mug of hot chocolate beside it. The wafting steam flows from the blood-red mug into the mild cacophony of mechanical keys being tapped and phones being rung. Izuku had already filled out 3 pages of his report on the effectiveness of hardening quirks, making note that the mouth is the most vulnerable weak-spot. Without removing his eyes from the screen, he types out an advisory footnote to security guards in the report to be wary of attacks to the face and maintain a degree of protection to the legs when on duty. The vivid image of the guard's crushed neck and the baseball bat in his hands came to mind the whole time he worked on it. How his foot collapsed the guard's trachea as though it were an empty tin can, how young the guard appeared, how the melting marshmallows in his hot chocolate were beginning to look a lot like teeth…

He quickly took a sip of it to soothe the chill creeping on his spine. That guard was still a kid, he thought. Late in his teens, sure but still a kid. Come to think of it, so was the concierge. A stammering mess, Izuku pictured the concierge's quivering frame and then imagined himself in his shoes.

 _An unknown intruder has just murdered the guards meant to stop people from entering and now he is staring at you with a bloodied bat. What do you do? There is a submachine gun underneath the counter to prepare for this type of situation, but you also remember that the two cadavers out front were far stronger than you are so there is a chance he might whack you before your skinny arms could even go for it. So, you go for the next best option and stall for time while you trigger the silent alarm._

Another sip of hot cocoa followed by a small nod and a hum. This kid's pretty smart.

 _The silent alarm is triggered. Now what? Continue stalling for time while begging for your life? Maybe, but the mask on the intruder prevents you from discerning his emotions. Luckily for you, you get knocked out as he throws a bat at you and you live to see another day. Live? Oh._

"Hey, Midoriya! It's lunch break already! What are you sitting around here for?"

Izuku narrowly avoided flinging his mug at his co-worker, who was beaming while leaning by his cubicle. He then glances at his computer screen. 1:00 p.m. Damn. He got carried away and missed his usual 12:30 mark.

"I just finished my report," he replies with a tired smile, "The usual as always."

The co-worker did not leave. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The Compiling Department keeps on breathing down our necks and pressuring us to come up with updates on Quirks as though they fall from the sky. Seriously, how the hell do you keep finding these things? Mikoto who sits next to me is one of the most hard-working people I know and even she can't churn out the number of reports you make every week! And with high detail too!"

Are they implying that I'm lazy? "Um…well, isn't Mikoto a mother of three as well-?"

"Oh! Oh! Have you heard of the massacre in Yokohama last night?" exclaimed his co-worker, smacking their forehead.

Izuku raised a brow. This was odd. Given the current level of gang activity in the country, hideout clearings are nothing new. What could make the scene at the Holden Apartments special? The apparent high-level security and location? A politician killed in the process? Possibly. "Yeah, why?" he asked, "Some big-wig died as well? Place does seem fancy."

"No, no! Not that. Something bigger!" the co-worker said with big hand movements. "They found a survivor!"

Within that moment, Izuku's body tensed and he quickly opened his web browser and checked the news. Pictures of a lanky, skinny kid were on the forefront of the search results. The concierge! He nearly forgot about him. Darn co-worker and office gossip. There were already claims being made that the massacre was part of the rumoured 'masked psychopaths' murders. However, looking at the headlines, his limbs loosened up. The survivor was still being held up in the Yokohama General Hospital for a mental health check before he will be cleared for investigation the next day.

"You…alright, there Midoriya?" the co-worker asked, worried.

"Hm, yeah. Why?"

"You just stared at the screen and ignored me for like, two minutes."

Izuku resisted the urge to slam his head onto his desk. Three years and his habit still had not gone away. At least he can keep it in his head now. "Ah, sorry," he said, feigning surprise. "I spaced out for a moment there. Must be because of the empty stomach."

Hearing this, the co-worker's eyes shot wide and whipped out their phone. 1:30 p.m. "Shoot! There's only half an hour left before work starts again!"

With a small sigh, Izuku tells them that its fine and that he'll just grab an egg sandwich from the vending machine. Unfortunately for him, the co-worker profusely apologised for causing him this trouble. By the time the co-worker finally left, he was left with 15 minutes to spare, a cold mug of hot chocolate and the co-worker's company card.

"Naomi Nakajima, huh?" he mumbled as he looked at the card. The co-worker told him to ring their number to call in a favour from them. 'To make up for your empty stomach', they said.

Pocketing away the card, he peeks out of his cubicle to check the vending machine on the other end of the office. Egg sandwiches were gone. He then looked at his cold cocoa. The brain only needed glucose to function, right?

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Izuku kept his head low while he typed away his next report, his cheeks red while his eyes peeking up to see the screen. The intense burning embarrassment in his ears flared up whenever he thought the low grumbling protests from his stomach grew loud enough to be heard outside of his cubicle. What the heck was he thinking? Going through the rest of the day on half a mug of cocoa? He felt like banging his head on his desk. Had he gone to the old man's convenience store and risked getting a late penalty by his floor supervisor, he could have avoided this unbearable shame. Damn it all. Why did he have to get caught up in his thoughts? Why wasn't he firmer in his assertions towards his co-worker that he wanted them to leave?

He stopped typing to scratch his head. Argh, this was a mistake. He stood out enough by becoming 'Employee of the Year' three times in a row. He did not need to be noticed for being hungry. Should he go sneak out now? The floor supervisor always came in 15-30 minute intervals so he could go for it. If he was late by 5 minutes, the classic bathroom excuse would work.

However, as he was ruminating this, the clock had struck 5:30.

The gears in his head froze when his ears heard the soft beep from his watch. 30 more minutes before his work hours ended.

He softly groans and tousled his already unruly hair.

"Dang it."

* * *

 _Amidst the burning walls of the apartment building, inhuman groans blended in with the cacophony of chaos of the screams that rang through. The small band of Pro-Heroes, having lost track of their squad leader after he stormed off on his own, were at risk of being paralysed with fear. They could not comprehend the twisted mind of the monster that wreaked havoc in what was once a sleepy apartment building near their alma mater. Their heads turned towards the sudden bursting of a wooden door. A bloated mutated blob of flesh was now staring at them on the end of hallway._

 _Yaoyorozu Momo flinched at the sight of it. These…things were deceptively fast and had a voracious taste for human flesh. She had already lost two members of her team to them. The creatures were extremely resilient against anything that wasn't a flame or an explosion. Their regeneration of damaged parts only added to her team's woes. However, as Yaoyorozu's eyes met with those of the creature before her, she was faced with the creatures' greatest weapon: the faces of the humans that they used to be. Mustering what inner strength she had left, she steeled her gaze towards the monster with the face of a kindly old lady and uttered a single command that sent the message to her squad loud and clear._

 _"Remember, no survivors."_

Her eyes snapped open as she sat up in cold sweat. It was the dream again. Slender fingers grasped at fistfuls of her own hair, her attempts at breathing slowly doing little to dissuade the quick beating from her chest. That face. That woman's face. It has been three years since that night, her memory of the woman escaping her by a hair. But, the face that smiled back at her as it lunged at her team screamed familiarity. She had seen it before. But where? A soft beeping of a digital clock made her snap around, clutching the soft thin blanket that covered her.

Blanket?

It was only then that she became hyper-aware of the distinct lack of the metallic cold of the table she was splayed on top of the night before. She could feel her body making an impression on the sofa she was on. Anxious eyes darted around the room. Gone was the grim dim lamp that gave her glimpses of torture devices hung up on the wall and the horrible people that used them on her. Wherever she looked, the gentle bright light showed her an ordinary living room. Its walls painted a default off-white and decorated with a modest flat-screen TV, some faux flora atop a slick black coffee table and a bookshelf. Judging by the fact that she could see the kitchen just by glancing to her left and two other closed doors with little head movement, she reckoned that she was in an apartment. A regular apartment that was rather homely for its size.

Hearing another beep, her gaze moved to the clock above the TV. The numbers '5:30p.m' jumped at her in bold red. Odd choice for an apartment, she thought, expecting the typical iconic circular mechanical clock. Speaking of odd, a lot of things did not make sense to her now that she had begun to let her thoughts sort themselves out. Where was she? Had Hiko's men finally tired of her and sold her off? No, that couldn't be right. The place did not fit the type of person who dabbled in that kind of business. What kind of man would this person be to work for Hiko but live on a level of modesty that seemed too jarring. She rubbed her arm out of instinct only to discover another surprise—she could feel the gentle sensation of fabric on her skin. Tossing the blanket aside, she looked down at herself to find she was wearing an oversized t-shirt with a caricature of All Might, his signature catchphrase present. A soft chuckle escaped her lips. She could almost hear her goofy teacher boom across the hallway saying, "I am here!" Her eyelids then lowered a bit. If only she could hear him say that one more time especially now. The people need someone like him again.

All Might.

Why did you have to leave so soon?

A soft shrill beep brought her back. The clock was showing that it was now six in the evening. Then, a low rumbling followed suit, causing her to fluster as she wraps an arm over her stomach. It was only then that she noticed the small folded piece of paper on the coffee table in front of her. She picked it up and opened it. It was a note.

 ** _"Hello._**

 ** _You looked pretty banged up when I found you so I did what I could to help. There's not much that I can do fix you up any further so please head for a hospital when you're well enough to walk. Take care._**

 ** _P.S: There's some food in the fridge. Help yourself to the kitchen and make yourself at home."_**

She lifted her shirt to peek underneath. She winced to see that her chest and belly splotched with purple and blue discolorations. She also noticed that a no-longer cold press was taped to her chest underneath her right breast. A jolt of pain surged through her when she pushed the cold press lightly. So that's why he insisted on going to the hospital. She definitely felt her ribs move a bit too far. No matter, she'd feel better after a meal.

* * *

Izuku stepped into the convenience store with a sigh. The store's jingle fell deaf on his ears as he went straight for the ready-made meals section.

"Young man? That you?" he heard the gruff voice of the cashier call out to him. "How many times do I have to keep telling you to lay off that junk? Do you even cook at home?"

The small hairs at the back of his neck bristled as he turned to the cashier with a katsudon set in hand and a smile on his face, his fingers feeling the ebbs of anger shaking them. The loud pop of the plastic container holding his katsudon crinkling from pressure had the cashier holding his arms up.

"Whoa! Easy there! Didn't know you were in a bad mood, young man," the cashier exclaimed with a laugh. "Bad day at work I reckon?"

"A-ah! I'm sorry, old man! I didn't mean to come off as angry!" Izuku flustered as he went towards the counter. Well, he was angry, but it did not mean that he had the right to do that. The old man might have been trying to cheer him or had probably had a worse day than he did. "I simply pressed the container a bit too hard and I didn't have lunch today so—"

"You didn't eat lunch today?" the cashier asked, his brows raised. "No wonder you're looking pretty glum this evening! I mean, a lot more glum than usual." The old man then eyed the price of the katsudon set that Izuku put on his counter. He let out sigh and put the meal into a plastic bag.

"Here you go, son," he said as he plopped a pair of disposable chopsticks and a bottle of mineral water into the bag and pushed it towards the flustering Izuku. "One katsudon set and a bottle of water. On the house."

Izuku's eyes went wide and he pushed the bag back towards the cashier. "I really can't do that, old man. Please, just let me pay for once," he pleads as he pulls out his wallet and fishes for the correct change. However, the cashier would not go down easy, his grey whiskers flaring up under the hot air blown from his nostrils. The audacity of this young man!

"No can do, son. I _insist_ that you take it." The plastic bag was pushed back towards Izuku, who was struggling to find any change small enough to pay the old man proper. The convenience store might have been cold but he felt as if he could be sweating bullets now. If the money he gave was too big, it would be a nuisance to the old man to look for small change. Then, his breathing slowed. His eyes stopped darting around. With a smirk, he simply nodded and took the bag while setting his hand on the counter. The cashier did not notice his hand as he beamed with pride having won the battle.

"You know, things would a whole lot easier if you'd just listen to your elders," the cashier said.

"And your business would be a lot more successful if you'd just accept payment from customers," Izuku shot back. The cashier laughed with mirth, his stout body shaking while he wiped a tear from his eye.

"That's a good one! Ha! For an office boy, you're pretty funny."

With a shrug, Izuku replied, "Eh, I do try from time to time."

"Don't push it, son. Besides, it's been a while since I've had a good laugh." The cashier then stroked his thick grey whiskers. "So, why haven't you eaten lunch today?"

Not wanting to admit that he got distracted by a co-worker, he simply said that his work was a bit more than usual.

"I see…" the cashier said with furrowed brows. He then got up and patted Izuku on the shoulder. "Well, you best get going, son. Don't want you to die of hunger from talking to me all day."

Smiling with earnest, Izuku said, "Don't worry, old man. I'd sooner die from my work than from your meals." He then walked out of the convenience store but not before he heard the old man call out to him once more.

"Be careful out there! Masked psychos might get the drop on you! They've massacred a building full of gangsters last night!"

Just as the jingle faded out into noise of the streets, a wistful smile formed on Izuku's face having heard the old man's words.

"Don't you worry, old timer. In time, there will be no more massacres to speak of."


	4. Lull

The walk home went by as usual. The cool breeze of the air wafting the smells of the city into his nose. The fierce and gruesome fighting that took place in these streets could be said to be forgotten from an aesthetic point of view due to how very little scarring was visible. However, those scars, much like the smells, never went away. No matter how well the municipality renovated, rebuilt, removed, the blood, sweat and smoke lingered.

He jerked his head to the side as he barely noticed something zipping by.

"Dang it, I missed!"

Izuku grit his teeth and took a deep breath before turning towards the offending voice. Seeing the scraggly runt and his small rag-tag group of friends in the usual alleyway around his block, he felt his blood cool a bit and offered a smile.

"You do know that it's rude to throw trash at others, right?" he chided them.

"Not when it's being thrown at other trash!" the runt shot back with a smug grin, his buddies hollering and jeering. Izuku checked his watch and sighed.

"Well kids, this walking piece of trash here lives in an apartment and would like to return there soon. How about you head home as well? It's getting late and alleyway grime isn't exactly the best thing to smell like," Izuku told them before waving them goodbye. He could not help but grin when he overheard curses and the scurrying of feet behind him.

He dusted himself off once he entered the familiar sight of the apartment lobby. The faint hum of the fluorescent lamp above complimented the sparse décor around him, buzzing in his ears. The off-putting bright neon-red digital clock above the elevators told him that it took him about an hour to reach home since he left the office. He gave himself a raised brow and a smirk. _Not bad._

Looking at the empty newspaper dispenser, his mind began to drift towards a time when the simple machine was filled with news. A young lad who just moved in with sunken eyes and a suitcase, grabbing a paper and reading each article featuring heroes and villains with scrutiny. Come to think of it, the lad was also carrying a bag containing a convenience store ready-made meal. Not to say that times were simpler back then, if anything they were harsher, but Izuku found the act of reminiscing the past to be…nostalgic? The proper terminology escaped him.

But, being sentimental never got him home any quicker so picked up his pace up the staircase beside the elevators, going up four steps at a time. Not a bead of sweat could be found on his brow and not a puff of hot air escaped his lungs when he reached his floor in less than a few minutes. Good. That meant more time he can spend relaxing.

It still did not prevent fatigue from setting in though and thus Izuku shuffled to his door with a mask of exhaustion, slightly crushed katsudon and water in one hand and suitcase in another. He sighed as he fumbled to get his keys, trying to flit his fingers through the suitcase's handles and snag the keyring. The old man was right—he did have a rough day. He barely slept after finishing the job the night before due to tending to his old classmate's injuries. His co-worker, however well-intentioned she may be, also caused him to miss his lunch and not to mention her rapid word-per-minute rate of yapping away by his cubicle every other day. The anxiety stemming from the kid at the lobby being alive only added to his weariness.

"I'm home." As expected, no answer.

Setting his suitcase and dinner on his dining table, he noticed signs of his kitchen having been used based on the dampness of the items by his drying rack. He allowed a soft smile to come out. Momo didn't need to clean up after eating but she did so anyway. She also managed to finish the vegetables given by the old man. He frowned. While he knew she was not a fussy eater, she was a fan of the sweeter side of gourmet. She must have been famished! Poor thing. What have they done to her?

Well, he knew what. More than a dozen things come to mind, none of them pleasant. No, what really bothered him was the _why_ and _how_.

 _Why did they abuse her? Why did they take her?_

 _How did this happen? How long was she treated this way?_

Those were questions that he might have to ask her later down the road. Not like he could tell exactly when he could because she should be in the hospital by now. A single tear rolled down his cheek. Battered black and blue with not an article of cloth to cover her dignity, scars marring once flawless skin and a broken rib, withered arms and chafed lips; the woman he rescued that night was the husk of the proud and awe-inspiring Yaoyorozu Momo. As harsh as it may sound, it was not her appearance that made him think so.

 _"At least, finish the job before you go."_

That line. The way she said it. It was the finality and acceptance of her fate that struck him. What have they done to reduce her to a point where death seemed better?

To want to die.

The crinkling of plastic made him realise his fists were clenching hard. Good thing it wasn't the katsudon casing. In any case, he did not feel hungry anymore so he put the katsudon into his microwave oven to reheat later. Now, all he wanted to do was take a nice long soak in his hot tub and crash.

"Damn it," he muttered. The thought of having to fill up the tub and wait for it to reach optimum heat added to a list of minor annoyances that have been building up the whole day. He just wanted to let all of that stress and uneasiness dissolve in the comfort that was the hot tub. He yanked his tie loose and set his hand on the bathroom door knob.

 _Let's get this over with._

He swung the door open with the determination of a tired salaryman.

" _AHHH!"_

And slammed it shut with the embarrassment of a chided child.

"I'm sorry!" Izuku's face flushed bright. He could feel heat filling his senses and he was not certain if the steam from his bathroom had anything to do with it. "I didn't see anything, I swear!" he added after a while. He did not hear any response coming from the bathroom. Every perceived second made him more anxious. While he did want to bathe, he felt dirty. These eyes have seen what should have been seen. And the steam did little to cover the milky skin that dripped with water- _NO! Stop it, Izuku Midoriya! No! Bad Deku!_

He gulped audibly. As a Quirk data analyst, every situation must be taken with a rational approach. So, he started off with the first question that popped up.

 _Oh Lord, why is there a woman in my bathroom?_

o-o

After cleaning up the kitchen after fixing herself dinner, Yaoyorozu Momo decided to take the opportunity to indulge in a luxury she had been denied for quite some time: a proper bath. If her benefactor was kind enough to let her use their kitchen, there should be no harm in using their bathroom too which was why she took it upon herself to fill up the hot tub prior to making dinner. Locking the door behind her, she undressed and plopped her clothes by a corner of the bathroom. A huge pile of one-oversized All Might t-shirt.

On a side note, whoever this person was, they were probably vegetarian. How else could one find it reasonable to fill up a fridge with that much green? Pudding is vegetarian, right? Why wasn't there a single pudding in the fridge then? Caramel pudding after a long day at work would have been a blissful way to unwind.

 _I should probably wait till they come back so that I can thank them properly for their hospitality,_ she thought as she let the soothing hot shower rain down her body and hair. A sad excuse of a hero she may be now but she was still a daughter brought in prestige. Etiquette and good manners instilled in her upbringing shall never leave her no matter the circumstance. That was how she carried herself when she led her friends in class 1-A as Vice-President, that was how she carried herself when she was assigned to her squad when the fighting broke out and that was exactly how she intended to carry herself now. A reason to live had been granted to her and she'd be damned if she was not going to use it.

The dirty water that flowed into the drain gradually became clear, Momo finishing up scrubbing her skin clean. She wiped the steam-covered mirror to check up on herself. She felt pleased to see that her complexion was rid of the grime that accumulated throughout her time in captivity. She lost track how she was kept in the slimy grasp of Hiko nor did she remember the number of blows that have struck her. With that in mind, it was amazing how well she looked in the mirror, bruises and broken ribs aside. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes as she dipped into the hot tub.

The calming warmth of the bath seemed to have removed the walls that she built to keep her sane in the face of the horrors that she went through. The bone-chilling sensation that sent her hairs on end when the monstrosities that wiped out her entire team in that burning apartment, the chaos that ruled the streets swept in the madness that was the Escalation, her weak and battered self being captured by one of the new rising figures of the underworld; it was hard to believe that she would have ever thought she would be relaxing in a hot tub, staring into the beige tiles of a humble bathroom. The purifying water she soaked in allowed her mind to wander. And thus stumbled on a lingering shadow that refused to let itself be forgotten.

At first it was a mild inconvenience in her throat, then it became a choking sensation that wanted escape her mouth. As much as she tried to hold it back, she let forth the quiet sobs and tears out of her system.

 _Why? Why? Why? Why was I allowed to live when my friends perished? If only I did not hesitate when I saw the old lady's face on the creature, my team would have lived. If only I was strong enough to save the tenants of the apartment. I let them die because of my weakness. Do I even want to return to service after such a disgrace? Wouldn't it be better if I pushed away the masked man's embrace and remain in that room? I'm being a nuisance to him. If only I just-_

She quickly shook her head and slapped herself. She spent soaking in the tub long enough and now it was time to get ready to look fresh. The apartment's tenant might return anytime soon so should not look miserable if she were to be thanking them.

Grabbing a towel, Momo started to dry her hair. She grumbled a bit at the long hair that she now possessed. A hair cut was long overdue. So caught she was in her post-bath ruminations that she could not help but scream when the bathroom door suddenly swung open.

Only for it to slam shut with equal brevity.

Momo's face in the mirror's reflection looked about as red as the tomato she ate for dinner. How long did she spend in the bathroom? Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did she have to cry in the tub? Of course she was going to use up more time than she intended with her private display of emotion. Wrapping the towel around her wet frame, she opened her mouth to apologise only for the person to cry out, "I'm sorry!"

 _That voice!_ _Could it be?_ Momo suddenly couldn't form coherent words as a surge of memories flooded her mind. Memories of the gentle and timid representative for General Studies in UA. Messy tuft of green and determined green eyes. The sparkle in those eyes when she saw him talk about Quirks during the annual UA tournament. _Midoriya?_ It might not be him or it might be. Panic and shock did wonders to disorient a person's perception after all and she did never thought herself as being above such human weaknesses.

"I did not see anything, I swear!" the person behind the door exclaimed, his voice cracking toward the end. Momo could not help but giggle and smile. There was no mistaking it; only Midoriya had a voice like that. Thus, it was only fitting to imagine the face he had when she proceeded to call out, "Of course you didn't, you saw everything when you put clothes on me!"

o-o

"M-M-Mo-Mo-Momo?!" Izuku's face was now a bright red tomato. His lips felt dry and his hands were shaking. His gut dropped into a pit he never knew he had. He didn't mean to! She was already naked when he found her and he tried to keep his eyes closed when he tried to put clothes on her but he decided seeing was the lesser of two evils when he realised that putting a shirt on another person blind will result in accidental contact. But then, a realisation struck him back to his senses.

"Why aren't you in a hospital right now? Your ribs are broken!"

"Can't a lady enjoy a bath before going? The place you found me isn't exactly the cleanest, you know?"

A twinge of guilt twisted his gut. Even though Izuku knew that she meant it as a joke, he felt like an idiot over this tactless oversight. "Oh, right," was the response that he came up with. "In that case, I'll be in my room. Give my door a knock once you're done and I can give you something more proper to wear."

He then retreated into his room and slumped onto his bed. His mind and body were not in sync as the former raced with thoughts whereas the latter felt as though the essence that kept it moving was slipping away. The body yearned for rest but the mind would not let it. So, he decided to lay in his bed and wait for the knock to come.

 _Knock, knock!_

Okay, maybe not. He got up, with surprising difficulty, and opened the door. To say that he was stunned would be an understatement.

His body frozen in place and his tongue incapable of forming coherent speech, Izuku was greeted with the sight of Momo in a snug red open-chest sweater that showed a bit more skin than he expected. The overwhelming synergy between her pencil skirt and stockings served to summon another imaginary lightning bolt to strike him dumb.

 _W-what a sight!_

Anyone looking from the outside in might have thought that the young man had been struck by this woman's beauty and had difficulty looking away from her chest. They would not be wrong either but for the wrong reason..

The necessary exposure of skin to maximise the utility of her Quirk, the ability to materialise any inanimate object from any exposed part of her body. Her choice of fashion fascinated Izuku because he saw it as the optimal blend of aesthetics and practicality. The aesthetics were a no brainer but the practicality of it all was that it was decent enough to pass as civilian clothing yet also exposing enough to allow a degree of combat readiness should her Quirk be needed.

"Hello? Midoriya? Are you okay?"

There was so much beauty in the smooth blend of practicality and beauty of the choice of attire Momo adorned. If there was one word that he could describe it, it would be…

"…breath-taking."

"What was that?"

"I-I said I'm fine let's go to the hospital now!" He fixed his tie with shaky hands and dashed past her to grab his suitcase and possibly his wallet.

He filed the information away in his mental database for later use. Maybe in a report.

Momo stood by Izuku's room with a smile, her cheeks a shade of pink.

o-o

"…and you are sure that is all you remember?"

"For the last time, yes! That's all I know, okay! I covered for Mike's shift because he was sick and he agreed to call in a favour to increase my part-time pay. By the time I got there, nothing much was going on and I was bored outta my skull. Next thing I knew, this masked man kicks the doors open and stares at me while holding a bloodied bat.

"Oh god…that mask….it was something outta a horror film. Those small simple eyeholes and that grin, it was evil itself, I tell you. Evil! Heck, even if it was some sick out-of-season Halloween prank, I'd still slam the panic button!"

"Anything about the man?"

"No. Not much. Just that he wore a suit. One of them business types and had green hair. Then I got a bat to the face and whaddaya know? Everyone around me is dead—no—slaughtered."

Detective Naomasa let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Yet another vague clue on the Masked Maniac and still nowhere near conclusive. "Very well. Thank you for time. The doctor's told me you will be allowed to go next thing tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Good thing I won't have to sit through another one of those psych-eval sessions. Like, I spent most of it out cold! Why would I be bothered by much of it? God!"

Another sigh. "Well, get some rest, son. Take care."

The detective then made his leave from the ward and took the elevator down. This man… He can't be working alone, that he was sure of. There was no way that one man had the resources to stake out several gangs _and_ had the firepower to wipe each of their hideouts and bases. Last night's hit had been the worst one yet. Whoever made the hit, he definitely did his homework. That particular luxury apartment complex was the regional headquarters for Yokohama's branch of the Quirk supremacist gang, the Heaven's Chosen Ones; the largest crime syndicate in the country. Whoever was responsible for this had to know their security policy as anyone with a powerful Quirk would not even make it past the security at the main entrance into the complex itself.

This meant that the suspect must have a weak Quirk or was Quirkless though his money's on the former. According to the recent Quirk data reports, anyone who knew how to utilise their Quirks to the fullest, no matter how weak or strong, can be a threat though the reports also helpfully show how much a threat a person depends on the type of Quirk. These data reports, while they have been around even before he started work, have now become standard issue since the Escalation. That incident woke everyone's eyes up to the real and ever-present danger of an all-out fight with the Quirk holders. The phrase, 'knowledge is power', had never been truer. Having relied on Heroes for so long had dulled the government's judgement on needing to find counters against Quirked individuals. After all, when you have the Symbol of Peace, who neatly divided people into Heroes and Villains and the people who needed saving, why should they?

He grimaced at the thought of his old friend.

 _Toshinori…you won the fight but you lost the war. Is this the world that you envisioned?_

 _Ding._

The elevators opened and he proceeded to make his leave. Just as he left, he noticed a bespectacled balding man enter the elevator after him. He thought nothing of it. He also noticed a young man with green hair along with a young brunette who looked like the spitting image of the missing Hero. It might be her but that would be too much of a coincidence. Seeing the suit the man was wearing, it's probably some yuppie making sure his new flame wasn't knocked up.

o-o

The newspapers the following morning reported that Ren Nakajima, part-timer at the Holden Apartment complex, had died.


	5. Interval (1)

The detective watched the security feed over the guard's shoulder, his frown beginning to unnerve the portly man in the chair.

"Are you positive that there aren't any cameras inside the wards?" The guard wiped his brow with his sleeve while giving the stern-looking detective a shaky nod.

"Y-yes, I'm sure," he stammered, "all hospitals and general healthcare centres do not place cameras in t-the wards to protect the patient's right to privacy." His large finger pointed at a loop of a recording of the footage in the hall where Ren's ward was located. Entering said ward was a balding bespectacled man who looked no older than his late 20s. Aside from the brief glint in his eyes, the man seemed like a regular Joe.

Black bomber jacket over a matching denim shirt and jeans; nothing about the guy was suspicious yet Detective Naomasa knew without a doubt that this man was the killer. The footage showed that the man was the only one seen entering and leaving the ward on the night of Ren's death; the evidence was solid enough to merit further investigation.

There was one thing that bothered him, however. He pointed at another loop showing the couple he saw last night.

The yuppie and his girlfriend.

"And you're sure this man with the green hair hasn't gone into the victim's ward?" he asked the guard.

"I'm sure of it. There's no mistaking it. The two were on different floors on the night of the murder. Since the victim was the sole survivor of the masked murderer's massacre, wouldn't that make this guy your man?"

Detective Naomasa pinched the bridge of his nose to quell his building frustration. The metadata before him didn't lie. On the night of the 24th of March at 10:30pm, his two potential suspects were indeed on different floors. That should be the clue that he was looking for. The bald man might as well have the words 'GUILTY' plastered on his back on the charge of murdering a witness. Yet, the anxious grip on his heart told him that the man he spent the two years tracking down wasn't him. There was this gnawing feeling that the young man in the suit had some form of involvement in this investigation but he can't quite put his finger on it.

What was it that Mr Nakajima said about the masked man?

 _"Anything about the man?"_

 _"No. Not much. Just that he wore a suit. One of them business types and had green hair. Then I got a bat to the face and whaddaya know? Everyone around me is dead—no—slaughtered."_

He looked back at the still of the young man and his girlfriend. The man's face could not be seen but Detective Naomasa could tell that he fit Nakajima's testimony well. The only trouble was that it was too vague. Sure, years of experience in his line of work made it easy to guess the age range the young man was in but even that knowledge wouldn't help. There were too many men and women in their early 20s working in the white-collar sectors especially Quirk data companies. Those companies were like a godsend for many people whose own Quirks weren't suited for Heroics because they not only tended to pay well but they also have significantly increased the value of the non-Heroics courses in academies nationwide.

Besides, even if the Masked Maniac was a white-collar man, there was no way he'd be a data company employee. His handiwork was proof enough that he had a dangerous Quirk or one who had the brains to make use of his mediocre Quirk to the fullest. This guy? Probably whack a guy to death with a thick book but not much else.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket, ending his train of thought. Taking a look at the sender of the message, he thanked the guard for his cooperation and marched out of the security room to find his partner, Sansa, waiting for him. With a nurse hovering over him.

"I take it, you're done flirting around, Sansa?" he asked, fixing his overcoat and hat. The nurse jumped with a yelp and ran off with a flair of aloof skittishness that could only come from a junior swooning over their senior.

"I'd like to call it 'info gathering' but yes, I'm pretty much done," Sansa replied with a sly smirk as he sauntered along with him till they reached the elevators, pointing finger guns at the nurse when he noticed her peeking from behind a corner. "So far, only useful info I got was from a doctor. The doctor's statement matches the security footage: the couple did indeed meet up with her on that night, which makes the other guy our perp. Interestingly enough, they weren't there for a pregnancy check-up."

The detective raised his brow. "Oh?" He pressed a button to call up the elevator, "And what were they there for?"

"A broken rib." The detective fished out a notebook from his pocket and clicked his pen, causing Sansa's ears to twitch. "No, it's not what you're thinking. From what the doctor has told me, business man here came across the woman in a critical condition on his way home from work. A 'Mr Midoriya', she says. Apparently he and the doctor knew each other from school so she offered to fix the woman up even though she was done for the day."

Detective Naomasa furrowed his brows. "Did the doctor say who the patient was?" he asked as they stepped into the elevator.

Sansa's ears drooped as the cat-man sighed. "Afraid not. Usual patient confidentiality bull. Can't blame her for just doing her job though. She did tell me her own name, though."

Before the detective could inquire more, the elevator doors opened to a blinding roar of commotion and flashing lights. A flurry of questions thrown their way even before they took another step out of the elevator.

"Sir, is the Masked Murderer behind the death of Ren Nakajima?"

"Is this a failing on the police's ability to protect?"

"Can we get confirmation that the late Nakajima's death is an assassination?"

With a sigh, Detective Naomasa and officer Sansa waded through the ocean of reporters, shooting them down with every possible iteration of 'No comment' that they know. The feline officer's hairs (fur?) were on end by the time they managed to get to their car.

"I swear, I can never _not_ get tired of reporters." Detective Naomasa grunted in agreement whilst fanning himself with his hat. Gosh darned reporters. Their diligence was commendable but do they have keep shoving microphones in the faces of whoever they want to interview?! There's only so many times one can take having microphones poking at their mouths before they start getting the wrong idea. However, he had some reporting of his own to do once they get back to the station. With notebook and pen in hand, he sought to get his partner's attention.

 _Click, click!_

The feline's ears twitched in irritation.

 _Click, click, click, click, click, clickclickclickclick-_

"Stop it!" Sansa barked. His scowl only grew when he saw the stern expression his partner wore. The look that said that it was time to get down to business.

"Jeez, the good Lord gave Man a mouth for reason, you know?"

Stern eyes bore into his soul. He shook his head with a sigh.

"From where we left off?" he asked. The detective nodded. "From where we left off. Alright. Beginning with the doctor's name then…"

o-o

The engine of the car hummed to life and briskly sped off to the highway. The hustle and bustle of Yokohama was ever present in the thousands of vehicles that passed through its veins. The shimmer of the blue ocean bouncing off the shining glass windows of the numerous buildings was a sight to behold for tourists entering Greater Minato Mirai 21.

Looking out the window, Detective Naomasa could not help but feel like he belonged to a different time. Reviewing the details his partner rattled off helped take away the sense of disheartenment that festered within him as yet another private corporation's logo flashed by. There used to be a time when hero offices held the same clout as these soulless entities; a sense of symbiosis developed by a necessity to benefit off of each other. Now, that clout had diminished.

He checked his notes once more to make sure that he got everything, twirling his pen. If even a single detail in Sansa's findings were off in the report he had to write later, there would be hell to pay. Besides, anything to stop him from seeing blurs of red, blue and yellow jumping across the view was a good thing.

So far, he gathered that the doctor who met with this Midoriya person was Dr Chiyo Kaifuku. Classmates and good friends with Mr Midoriya, was rather short and wore glasses. He rolled his eyes at the part where Sansa described the rest of her body.

 _Perception is one thing, getting one's three sizes down to the nearest tenth is another,_ he noted. His eyes then drifted to the highly explicit and detailed nature of Sansa's transcript of his conversation with the nurse. _Nevermind, he's probably got a lot of practice._

The doctor's Quirk made her an essential addition to the hospital's EMT staff though specifics on it were denied with the reason of confidentiality. _Again._ There was nothing that could be done for the other man so he had to wait until forensics does their thing.

However, that was not going to stop his partner from filling up that time with whatever he had in mind.

"Say, Nao," Sansa said, "if we bag this bald guy, do you think the killing would stop?"

Naomasa raised his brow, putting his notebook and pen back in his pocket. "Depends. Why do you ask?"

"As weird as it may sound due to the amount of grief he's been giving the police force, I actually would feel relieved if this guy wasn't the masked murderer or psycho or whatever the gangs have been calling him. They have a different name for everything… Anyway! My point is that he's doing us all a favour."

Now that was an interesting conundrum. Still better than his supposed flings with the various women on the force. "And why do you think so, Sansa? What he's doing is vigilantism, no more no less. He's taking the law into his own hands and by all accounts, that makes him a criminal, therefore a villain."

"Ah, the classic argument." Sansa shook his head with a smirk, "You're not wrong there, partner. However, his MO doesn't fit that title. One guy takes down a gang hideout? Sure, I'd agree with you. But hitting the hideouts and even HQs of more than one gang? I don't know about you, Nao but there's no way he'd be a vigilante." He stroked his whiskers with a flick. "Any innocents that are found dead are never by his hand and anyone less than that is dispatched quickly. True, there were quite the exceptional displays of brutality every now and then but most of his victims are killed with terrifying efficiency. It's like he knows their Quirks inside and out.

"But I digress. If he is a vigilante, then why have there been no reports of him whatsoever for other crimes? We never see anyone coming in saying that a masked man stopped a robbery or brought their cat back. He always hits gangs and where they hurt the most."

The detective took a moment to rub his chin. That was quite a lot to ponder. He clicked his tongue and furrowed his brow.

"Even so, where does that leave his motives? Why is he doing this? At least with the Hero Killer, Stain, we knew why he did things. If the eradication of crime is what he's after, cleaning out their hideouts and headquarters will only attract more gangs to fill in the vacuum or worse, the ire of the Council of Elite Heroes."

An involuntary shudder ran down Sansa's back, causing him to rub his shoulder. The station was now in view. It would be another 20 minutes before they got there. Silence filled the car the rest of the way, a solemn agreement to never discuss that line of thinking.

"Anyways," Sansa began with a sputter, "any luck on the leads you got from the receptionist before he kicked it?" Naomasa frowned. "Not a lot then."

"There's not a lot to work with. All I've got from him is that he's a businessman with green hair and wears a mask with a smiley face on it," the detective said, still frowning.

"I'm sensing a 'but' there if them brows are anything to go by."

"I saw something else in the security footage. A young couple entering Dr Kaifuku's office."

"Midoriya? Going by the timeframe of the murder, it does fit the time of the good doctor's alibi. You think the man might have some dirt on him?"

Naomasa scoffed and adjusted his hat. He also noted that they were now about to enter the station's parking lot. "Anyone working in those businesses always have dirt on them. Even worse if they're based in Minato Mirai. Soulless demons who won't feel any guilt stepping on others to climb up the corporate ladder… No, that's not what I was thinking about."

Sansa steered the car into their usual spot and shut off the engine. He turned to his partner with a raised brow, "So you think he might have something to do with the murder then? Unless he can create clones of himself or the cameras somehow lie, you know that's not possible."

"Close but no dice. I was thinking more along the lines of our Masked Maniac." He rolled his eyes seeing the blank expression Sansa was making. "Don't look at me like that. I know it seems a bit of a stretch but he does fit Nakajima's description pretty well."

"You mean the incredibly detailed description of what can be summed up as 'man wears suit'? So what? We round up everyone who has green hair and works white-collar?" Sansa said with a mix between a scoff and a laugh. "You might as well throw me in jail for my amazing sense of perception when it comes to how people look."

Detective Naomasa stroked his chin. "Actually, I might just do that."

"Oh, come on!"

"I don't know, Sansa. Jotting down someone's three sizes when they haven't provided it seems like a clear violation of privacy. I still don't get how you are able to get Dr Kaifuku's—"

"99.8-67.3-93. Redhead, just under 150cm in height. Eyes redder than her hair or even blood itself. Takes care of her skin well based on smoothness. Probably uses SK-IV." Detective Naomasa's had not noticed when his jaw had hung open. As creepy as his partner's ability was, he had to admit that it was impressive. It made sense for him to do investigative work; his Quirk was perfect for identification. A sense of respect began to stir in his heart for the guy.

"With those measurements, it made sense that she's got a rockin' bod. Perfect chest to hip ratio and with killer thighs to boot."

Detective Naomasa stepped out of the car, his expression unamused. He took one last look at his partner with a sigh and slammed the door shut before disappearing into the station.

Officer Sansa only guffawed, smirk still plastered on him. "That, my friend, is why you're still a virgin."

o-o

The detective read through the autopsy reports on Ren Nakajima for the third time with an unreadable frown. Line after line of details pertaining to the deceased receptionist scrutinised under his watchful weary eyes. He peered over the papers to look at the forensic scientist.

"Are you certain that your findings are conclusive?"

"Most certainly, Detective," said the detective as she pushed her glasses up, "It appears that Mr Nakajima experienced cardiac arrest which led to his death. An attempted murder by air embolism can also be seen in the abnormally large air bubbles in the victim's vein. After further examination, I'd put his time of death roughly around 9pm to 10pm last night."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you mean to tell me that there _was_ an attempt on his life but he was _already dead_ by then?"

The forensic scientist looked at him dead in the eye and said, "Yes."

He let out an exasperated sigh and pointed at the other cadaver in the room. "And that's-"

"Naoto Kirino, age 55. His body was found by the dumpsters at the hospital. Multiple stab wounds did him in, bled to death. Wallet had no money in it so possibly mugging gone horribly wrong."

Things were beginning to fall apart for the detective. While the cadaver may be naked and cut open, his face was not an easy one to forget. That right there was the bald man who entered Nakajima's ward. The suspect. Now lying dead on the cold metal table.

"Is something the matter, detective?"

He turned away from the cadaver to address the scientist. "…nothing. Did you determine when he died?"

"Roughly 8pm last night if those stab wounds are anything to go by. Why?"

He adjusted his hat and coat. "Because this case just got a lot more complicated than I initially thought. Unless a dead man tried and failed to kill an already dead man, this reeks of another player in the game and one of them has a Quirk that allows them to transform into other people." He pinched the bridge of his nose and checked his watch.

2:30pm.

He stifled the urge to groan. It was too early for this. God, what he would give for an aspirin right now. Not even a full day passes since he has an actual lead into the Masked Maniac and it already explodes into a borderline conspiracy. What's next?

She stood there watching the detective walk out of her workspace until his footsteps could no longer be heard. Then, her face began to deform. Her clothes, her body, everything warped and melted away into a grey liquid on the floor. Standing amidst the liquid was a petite blond woman with messy buns and a demented smirk revealing her pronounced canines. She then turned to the cadavers while scratching her head.

"I gotta admit, the police here work real fast. They found my disguise provider for last night just as I found the ones I needed for today." She then loomed over Nakajima's body and gave it a slap. "Why did you die before I came? Didn't you know it's bad manners to die before your killer comes?"

A beep rang from the collar of her cardigan, causing her to pout. "Argh, I hate this part of the job." She pulled her collar up and spoke into it.

"Hello, Himiko speaking." She winced as angry yelling came through. "What? It's not my fault that the police around these parts are actually competent. Good thing your boys had half a mind to get the councilman's body out of Holden Apartments before they showed up… Yeah, yeah, I know… Don't worry, I used the syringe this time and I only knocked them out, so relax."

She let out a yawn. "No, I'm not yawning. I'm just waiting till you can shut up and let me end my report already, jeez…"

She idly checked her nails. "Thank you. Anyways, our favourite masked buddy may have more connections than we've initially thought… No, I don't mean the multiple other masked loonies that we killed these past few months. I'm talking more of the 'professional' kind. Our target was already dead before I could read him some bedtime stories… Alright, alright. I heard you the first time around but it won't be long before the Council steps in. The efficiency in which this guy wipes out our bases is taking away their spotlight… You're right, the No.1 Hero's scandals will probably take that spotlight faster than the masked guy cleans out the Yokohama branch… Catch ya later."

She ended the call and swung her arms around. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a vial of blood. Bright yellow irises eyed the blood as though it was made of strawberry. She then popped it open and downed its contents without a second thought. Grey liquid emerged from her body, enveloping her within it and morphing into the shape of a man with volatile motion. Then, it stilled, taking on colour and adding definition and texture to the shape's features and clothes until a man in a lab coat stood in Himiko's place.

Clearing his throat, the man cracked his knuckles and smirked. "Out with Dr Maria, in with Dr Yamada. I wonder how long it will take before the police find two unconscious people in the janitor's room?"

* * *

 _Author's note:_ Hey there, KobeNiku here. Close to New Year's Eve and finally getting a post in. It's been tough juggling between writing for leisure and writing for (university) work along with other life obligations. Recently, my right shoulder joint has been killing me. Could be RSI, could be something else entirely but it's enough of a pain that it has made doing even basic chores like grocery shopping miserable. I don't blame anyone for losing interest by this point. It has been a fair few months since the last upload after all. Moreover, the numbers suggest that readers are more invested in my other MHA fic, _In the Court of the Verdant Hero_.

Nonetheless, it has been a joy to know that there are people that do read my works, no matter how infrequently they voice their opinion. To that I say, thank you. While I'm not one to fish for reviews, I do highly suggest that you tell me what you think of it. Good or bad, it doesn't matter.

Thank you all for reading. Happy holidays and have a good day.


	6. Interval (2)

Spring, season of flowers. Its gentle breeze mixed with the refreshing faint fragrance of cherry blossoms and the cool scent of the ocean that was the beating heart of the Port of Yokohama. It would have been a great day to sit back and take in the peaceful sounds of nature's symphony if it weren't for the fact that she was stuck in this dark meeting room having her eyes blinded by the offending brightness of the projector while listening to her boss droning on and on about sales and numbers and employee performance.

She quietly sighed. The company she was working for was by no means a 'black' company in any sense of the word, but would it kill to just have a company outing? It's spring! It's all about flower viewing! Picnics! Hanayori dango! Glancing around the meeting table, she could sense that her fellow co-workers felt the same way. Probably. Then, she set her sights on Midoriya, who was most likely the only one that was taking this meeting seriously judging by his expression. Him and those sticks-in-the-mud that strived to climb up the corporate ladder.

But Midoriya was different. He wasn't like them.

Despite being the only person in the company that was awarded Employee of the Year three times in a row, she noticed that he never used those awards to pull his weight around nor did he treat his co-workers any differently. If anything, he preferred to work quietly in his cubicle, coming out only to have lunch.

Did she find it weird? Not really. It wasn't like he was anti-social if the somewhat common sight of people walking to his cubicle was anything to go by. There was something about him that made him easy to approach. Was it those emerald determined eyes? The boyish face with freckled cheeks? Maybe it's the fuzzy tuft of green that adorned his head?

Then, she reacted a moment too late when his gaze turned to meet hers. She tried to play it off by looking at the slides being presented but the embarrassment was suffocating. Her cheeks now flush, she chanced a peek at Midoriya again only to find him giving her a smile.

It was only a brief flash of a smile. Blink and you miss it. But it was enough for her to turn bright red.

Get it together! There was no way that she was going to be flustered that easily. What was she, a forlorn schoolgirl with cheap fantasies of romance? Besides, she's a regular office gal whereas he was the one everyone bet their money on to replace their boss. They were worlds apart.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to be asked out by him, would it? Ah! She gave him her business card a week ago, didn't she? Here's to hoping that he cashes in on that offer soon! There's this place in town that she really wanted to take him to! The omurice there was simply killer! The perfect marriage between the fluffy and runny egg over the piping hot fried rice, topped with an opulent demi-glaze sauce that elevates the flavors to the upper echelons of culinary heaven!

"Miss Nakajima! Are you paying attention?"

"Hiee! Y-yes, sir! I mean, boss!"

The tall bespectacled man that was her boss simply harrumphed and fixed his glasses, the projector glare obscuring his eyes to her. "I understand that you are an intern and have been with us for barely a month, but we still expect a degree of diligence and cooperation from you. This includes focusing in meetings and taking initiative when the opportunity arises. This is doubly true for you since the impetus is on you to convince the company that you are an asset if you wish to work with us full-time. Do you understand?" he chided, all the while making choppy hand movements.

"Y-yes, sir!" she replied with her head bowed low.

Her boss let out a sigh. "As long as you bear that in mind… Since this is the first instance of such behavior seen from you and due to the minor nature of it, I'll overlook it. I know you youngsters are still used to the mindset of having long breaks during spring, but sacrifices must be made once you enter the workforce and that includes free time. Besides, it's not within my power to give you all such breaks since the schmucks up in Compiling keep hounding us for more data."

After a collective groan and grin of understanding from the room, the boss clapped his hands once. The lights began to illuminate the meeting room and the blinds rolled up, causing some of the people in the room to wince. "With that being said, this meeting is adjourned. You may leave now. Except for you, Mr. Midoriya. I have a few things to discuss with you."

The meeting room was cleared out with little to no fuss as the office workers engage in light gossip as they exit, leaving Midoriya behind. Making her way back to her cubicle, Nakajima was suddenly grappled from behind.

"Eep!"

"Guess who?"

"Ms. Ishiyama?"

"Hey, I thought I told you to drop the formalities with me! Calling me that makes me feel old, you know?" she pouted, resting her chin on Nakajima's shoulder.

 _Isn't it because you are already married with three kids?!_ "Um, sorry, Mikoto. I'm not quite used to it yet."

"That's alright, Naomi- _chan_! It's only natural to make mistakes especially when you start out doing something," the older woman said while giving her a gentle pat on the back. "Besides, the boss is always a stickler when it comes to such things so don't let what he said bring you down. It's not like anyone can blame you for ogling Midoriya. Young love is always like that."

"Mikoto!" she scolded, her face glowing red.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I thought it was rather cute how you kept staring at him until he noticed."

"W-wha?"

"It's fine, I'm sure everyone thought so as well."

More than a few snickers then broke out from the cubicles. Mikoto stifled a giggle watching the flustered Nakajima storm off. "My, my, how cute."

Then, hearing the meeting room door open from behind her, Mikoto turned around to see Midoriya and the boss shaking hands as they both left the room. Her cheerful and upbeat demeanor vanished, her eyes observing the young man.

What an enigma, that Midoriya. What kind of person exactly was he? On the surface he appeared to be harmless. Adorable even, with his awkwardness that hung about him when talking about anything other than Quirks. However, something felt… off. Having observed and interacted with him on occasion since he started work three years ago, she noticed that he had never once shared anything about himself to anyone. Even the information on his alma mater, the one thing that he did share, was never elaborated on.

No embarrassing stories, no talk of old friends, not even gossip on the teachers there. It was as if he was just… there. But she knew there was more to it than he let on.

It was in the eyes. That fleeting moment of a vacant stare into a place no one else saw before switching back to their usual shine. She had heard stories from her husband who worked there. How the school was one of the hardest hit places during the Escalation, forcing the school to graduate their brightest students early.

She remembered the looks of pity everyone gave him when they heard that the new applicant came from U.A. A Quirkless too. He would fit right in with the band of rejects under the company's employ.

However, either it was the prestige of the school or perhaps it was through his raw talent at collecting information on Quirks but the young man burned through the ranks. Rumor has it that his output was carrying the entire department. Considering the frequency in which the boss called on him, it might be true.

That was also another area of concern: the data. Where in the world did he get it? It was an open secret that some of the people in their line of work either pad out their collected data or engage in corporate espionage to help boost their data collection output. However, even those methods wouldn't be able to yield the amount that he churned out.

An uneasy dread crept up her spine. There was one way to achieve it. She did not want to believe it. She refused to believe it. But if her hunch turned out to be true though…

She sighed and walked back to her cubicle. What was she thinking? Of course not. It's probably just the stress from work messing with her mind.

"Good morning, Mikoto."

She turned to see Midoriya pass by her with a smile. It was a tired one.

Weren't they all?

She flashed a bright smile in kind.

"Good morning, Midoriya."

With a curt wave towards his back, she went back to her cubicle where pictures of her three daughters greeted her. Next to it was a framed photograph of her husband along with his colleagues and students. Despite the clear and present danger at the time, UA High still held a graduation ceremony as a defiant show of perseverance in the face of adversity.

Granted, only the A-classes of every department got an official graduation. The rest were informed through the mail.

Some received theirs posthumously.

But, looking at the radiant smiles of her husband and his students, she'd almost forget that a civil war rivalling the one that birthed the Quirk Revolution went on at the time. It was just so… surreal.

How could they look so happy not long after losing their friends once the walls fell?

How could they seem so calm when they knew that the people they swore to protect turned against them?

How could he leave her so soon after the birth of their darling triplets?

The hum of whirring computer fans and the tapping of keyboards around her cubicle seemed like a joke. A droll office environment generating profits off the information generated by the very same battles that nearly broke the country. Profits that she used to keep food on the table for her family.

A sharp ping from her mailbox stirred her. A small smile wormed along her lips. The anonymous self-proclaimed friend of her husband has transferred a stipend of ¥200,000.

It wasn't enough to support her family on its own, but it was more than enough to add to her savings in addition to her salary.

She didn't have to ask around to know who this anonymous person was. The dates when they first started popping up told enough.

What an enigma you are, Izuku Midoriya.

* * *

"Good evening, Miss Yaoyorozu. Is everything okay so far?"

"Yes, I am fine and please call me Momo. Being too formal feels a bit strange in this situation."

"Only if you stop calling me Dr Kaifuku. Now, are you going to let me in or am I going to conduct the checkup in front of the door?"

"Of course. Do come in."

Momo ushered the doctor in and closed the door behind her. Dr Kaifuku had come over to Izuku's apartment to give Momo private treatment for her broken ribs and other possible ailments as Izuku requested. This evening would be their first session.

"Normally, this is the part where the doctor would exchange pleasantries and ask inane questions like 'How are you feeling?' or 'Where does it hurt?' or something like that but I work mainly in the ER so I'm not gonna bother with that. Plus, we're already buddies! Besides, anyone with a working pair of eyes and half a brain could recognize who you are so I'm not gonna bother with that either," the doctor rattled off after they had taken a seat in the living room. She then stopped herself, her brows furrowing.

"Then again, Deku did find you, if I were so led to believe, in a cliché dark alleyway on his way home where no one somehow spotted you, let alone saw you, even once before getting there despite having your face literally plastered everywhere on missing posters and news reports on top of being one of the most well-known Pro Heroes out there?"

"…yes?" Momo replied, resisting the urge to back away.

"Well, I guess that's the truth, then!" she declared with a loud clap and a smile. "If a friend of Deku's says so then so it is."

"R-Right, doctor."

"What did I say about calling me 'Doctor', Miss Yaoyorozu Momo, daughter of the prestigious Yaoyorozu clan?"

Momo gulped as she smiled in exasperation. "Not to call you that, Chiyo."

"Good!" she lit up. "Now, Momo, let's get's this over with, shall we?"

Despite the nature of the exchange they just had, this was really the second time that they had met. Since their first meeting that fateful night when Izuku took her to the hospital, not a word was spoken between them until now. If Momo could describe the kind of person Dr Kaifuku—I mean—Chiyo was, it would be…

"Huh, would you look at that? A deluxe edition All Might t-shirt exact to his exact size! Some things never change with good old Deku," said the doctor, leaning close to her chest to look at the shirt Momo wore with an enthusiastic smile that did not match her dead blood red eyes. While poking at it. With her stethoscope. It was worth noting that her eyes appeared dead regardless of what expression the rest of her face emoted the whole time.

Yes, Chiyo was an _interesting_ person, Momo told herself. An interesting person with an interesting Quirk. Considering Shinsou's Brainwashing Quirk that almost nabbed the General Studies department their first ever win during the U.A Sports Festival during their freshman year, it was to be expected that the doctor still prodding her came from General Studies as well. After all, Izuku did say that she was a good friend of his. Come to think of it, it was almost hard to believe that Izuku was Quirkless to begin with.

The neat and tidy U.A General Studies Valedictorian certificate that hung on his living room wall came to mind.

 _In recognition of Outstanding Academic Achievement in the Department of General Studies and for spearheading numerous groundbreaking innovations in Quirk Support Gear through multilateral co-operation between the Support Department and the Heroics Department, and on nomination by the esteemed board and staff of U.A High, we hereby confer upon the student,_

 ** _IZUKU MIDORIYA_** _,_

 _The **PLUS ULTRA VALEDICTORIAN AWARD**_

 _With all the honors, rights and privileges thereto pertaining._

 _'Plus Ultra' Valedictorian?_ Being a valedictorian herself, she knew that a few others from her batch possessed academic prowess that rivalled the potency of their Quirks. However none of their certificates had been given the 'Plus Ultra' extension. How could she not have heard about it?

"I don't blame you if you've never known," said Dr Kaifuku, causing Momo to restrain herself from yelping in surprise. "He never really did like standing out much."

"How did you—" asked Momo before she got cut off.

"You were looking at Deku's certificate for quite some time there," said Dr Kaifuku. "So much so that you didn't even notice where I'm touching."

In an instant, Momo became acutely aware of the soft hands that were groping her abdomen. Heat rose into her cheeks and she just about to scold the doctor before a light finger pressed onto her lips.

"Before you say anything, my Quirk works best upon direct contact," said Dr Kaifuku, her tone matching her eyes for once. "It's my fault for not disclosing this to you sooner. However, considering what you've been through, the fact that your body failed to register applied pressure onto your abdomen and chest is a saddening expected outcome."

Both women said nothing after that. While Dr Kaifuku continued her examination by touch, Momo found herself speechless. A mixture of feelings whirled up in her heart. Her initial anger over the doctor's perceived violation was replaced with guilt and awe. Of course, she was still mad that the doctor groped her to begin with, but the doctor did it with consideration of her well-being. She supposed that such level of perceptiveness came with the job, but she was sure that the cover story she and Midoriya told Dr Kaifuku mentioned nothing about her time in captivity. In fact, she never told Midoriya at all.

It was no secret to her that her savior kept in touch with Midoriya. While she never confronted him about it, the fact that he never contacted the authorities about her discovery made it obvious. Considering that her face popped up in the missing person's report on the news every night, Midoriya must have been ordered to keep her treatment discreet. Why else would Midoriya do so? The Izuku Midoriya that she knew from their brief stints together in inter-departmental projects was kind, gentle and had a will to help people in need.

The Izuku Midoriya she lived with for a week also had the same traits though not quite. He treated her well and did his best to accommodate her. He even went as far as to set some space in his fridge for pudding and castella. He didn't have to sacrifice his love of vegetables for her. He would have given her his bed too if she didn't decline his offer twenty times. However, despite all of this, he remained distant.

The living room that she resided in was only a door apart from Midoriya's room, yet it seemed as though he lived in a world of his own. She only met with him on two daily instances throughout her week; when he left for work and when he came back from work. It was understandable that his work kept him busy as she used to throw herself into it when she was still in active duty. Still, that same kindness that helped ease her into his home also kept her at arm's length. Breakfast and dinner were solemn affairs with both munching away in silence. Meals were always bought from the convenience store a few blocks down. Any conversation they had never went beyond mere pleasantries. It was less like a friend letting another sleepover for the week and more like a hotel concierge accommodating a guest. They were never the closest of friends—the difference in departments saw to that—but she thought of him as a fellow person of education she could hold lengthy discussions with.

Remembering that night she woke up in his apartment, the words that he told her before leaving for the hospital though, she knew that the walls he put up could be broken.

Noticing that Dr Kaifuku had stopped her examination, she took this opportunity to ask her about Midoriya. Who better to ask that an actual friend of his, right?

"Oh? Curious about Deku are we?" said Dr Kaifuku with a smirk, her tone returning to her usual mischief. She glanced at the digital clock hanging on the living room wall and shrugged. "Sure, why not? It's been a while I've engaged in gossip anyhow. Fire away though I want nothing to do with any of hanky-panky you two get on with."

"H-Hey! How crass! We've done nothing of the sort," chided Momo before clearing her throat. "I simply want to know what how Midoriya is as a person?"

Dr Kaifuku raised a brow. "Hah? Aren't you living with him for about a week now? Have you tried asking him at all?"

"Just curious to see what he's like from your perspective."

Dr Kaifuku squinted. "I see what you're doing here but I'm going to play along for now. Well, Deku is Deku. Despite the nickname, he's anything but useless as you've noticed from the certificate. If anything, I'd say he's too useful."

"What do you mean by that?"

A rare spark of life lit up in the doctor's dead eyes. "You'd never understand. You people who won the genetics lottery will never understand," she said with a wistful smile. "He, Izuku Midoriya, our awkward fool of a class president, had a dream. It was a simple dream. A dream where the Quirkless and the ones with less fortunate Quirks will never be deemed worthless. That they would stand a chance to become heroes in their own way. I laughed at his dream, you know? I mean, it sounds like something a five-year old would say. Yet, despite the discouragement from his idol and the bullying from that asshole he called a childhood friend, he went with it. He pursued that dream with earnest.

"Even when the Great U.A Barrier crumbled and the villains broke through, he still held on to that dream in his own way. Together with Hatsume Mei, Hitoshi Shinsou, dickhole Monoma and yours truly, we formed our own resistance group. Considering how insane the fighting got when Trigger got involved, I'm surprised there was even a General Studies department left standing."

Momo shuddered at the mention of Trigger. That abhorrent Quirk-enhancing drug that caused the user to lose all sense of reason. Nowadays, subduing an addict was easier thanks to the development in Quirk Support gear with the advent of Quirk data analytics but the terror facing up against a villain possessing a powerful Quirk enhanced further with Trigger still caused her to shiver. Even that, however, paled to the absolute horror of the effects of Trigger overdose. Fire and ash invaded her memory.

 _"Remember, no survivors." And thus every tenant fleeing towards them fell._

She shook her head. Focus. Now was not the time for this. Unfortunately, the doctor seemed to agree.

"I'm afraid, I'll have to cut our little chit-chat short, Momo," declared Dr Kaifuku, stretching her back as she rose. "People are dying every day and there's nowhere near enough people with medical-based Quirks in the world to treat them."

"Wait, I—"

"You're right, I almost forgot!" Dr Kaifuku smacked her forehead. She handed Momo a slip of paper with some notes scribbled on it. "Here are the results from today's examination. Don't worry, I'll give you a proper one next time I come around."

"But—"

"If some medical terms are too difficult for the great Yaoyorozu Momo, basically your ribs are going to heal just fine, there are no clots in your bloodstream and no divergences in blood flow towards other lumps of life," said Dr Kaifuku as she waved Momo off and swung by the door.

"Bye~!"

And thus Momo never got to ask Dr Kaifuku how the General Studies department fared against the villains during the Escalation as the door slammed shut. There were a lot more questions than answers received. When did the resistance group form? How did they even survive? Even the Top Ten Heroes had trouble faring against the Trigger-addled villains, let alone fledgling students at U.A.

A sinking feeling settled in her gut as she realized that there was a lot more about her former classmates than she naively thought.

o-o

Dr Kaifuku's phone buzzed as she walked past the municipal office. The protests in front of the building made for a poor calling environment so she was grateful that it was a text message. A devilish smirk wormed its way along her cheeks. No wonder the protests kept going. The madman killed the mayor while cleaning out the gang's headquarters. With that out of the way, the stage was set for the next part of the plan.

She just hoped that their hero-pretender classmate wouldn't lead him astray.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Hello there, readers. Well, if there are any left since I last updated last December. That makes it a record-breaking 8-month hiatus. Whew. Those of you from Court of the Verdant Hero will know that I usually have my reasons for late posts but this is inexcusable. Especially since it's left off at a transition too. However, I now have a beta and I am currently attempting to work in an update schedule of sorts.

Yes, you heard me. An update schedule. I'm not sure if I'm able to keep up said schedule but do know that you reserve every right to crucify me on a cross of your choice should I fail to uphold this claim. As for the schedule in question, it will be a new chapter once every fortnight weekend, switching between stories. So, the next chapter of Court of the Verdant Hero should come out this week and a new Data Collector chapter the week after that. On weekends.

So, do enjoy this highly delayed upload. I hope to keep in touch with you for more chapters to come.

Thank you and have a nice day.

P.S: Don't worry, the next chapter won't be a transition one.

P.S.S: Don't mind the update. Just fixed an overlooked formatting error.


	7. Eye of the Storm

Work today was alright. The company's financial health was still in the green and he got to try out some neat omurice for lunch. No wonder Nakajima kept eyeing him throughout the meeting; if he had discovered a place that served legendary food, he'd want to share it too. Well, maybe not as eager as the intern. Poor Nakajima. Then again, the head of department was always like that even back in school.

A smile crept along his cheeks before a dark thought wiped it off. Passing by the protestors that were still crowding the municipal office, he was reminded of his impromptu 'briefing' with the head of department.

"The mayor is dead," he said. Well wasn't that a shock to hear. Throughout his extensive career of doing Bakugou's job for him, it was not all that uncommon for a VIP or two to end up in the crossfire. However, they were usually the equivalent of small fry in the world of white collars. These included fellow quirk data analysts wanting to shortcut their way into obtaining data, a few insignificant errand boys for the councilmen and what have you. He shared no pity for them for thinking they could make deals with scum and come out scot-free. The ones he did have some sympathy for were the ones that were probably following orders from some politician in office. Japanese law was ultra-strict against blatant acts of crime, hence why none of the killings he committed were outdoors nor in the daylight. If the Americans struck the fear of god into their gangsters with the IRS, the Japanese have their web of laws made specifically to make the lives of criminals harder than ever before. If it weren't for the fact that the citizenry valued their legal freedoms a bit more than their neighbors, there might have been laws on thoughtcrime already. That's what the Council of Heroes was for.

Hence, his utter bafflement at the reveal of the mayor's presence. Why in the love of God was he even there?! If even a single text message got leaked from a subordinate outing him as a collaborator with gangsters, it'd be political suicide! Well he _did_ technically sign his own death warrant for being in the apartment complex that night but that was beside the point.

The bigger question was who was the puppet master? Izuku only knew of the mayor's death through his connections and even then, it took them a week to find out. Whoever they're up against must have had their claws sink deeper into the government that he once thought. Their coverup game was top notch since news outlets have yet to report on this. A quick search on his phone elicited an involuntary snicker. Really? _'Yokohama Mayor gone missing on island vacation'?_ Come on, be reasonable. Still, credit's where credit was due. The mayor's replacement was handling the crisis far better than anyone could hope to accomplish. _'Who could it be?'_

He shrugged. It was not his place to speculate. If the guy was doing the job well, then he's doing the job well. He only wished that the protests would stop soon. They were ruining his peaceful walks to work and home.

 _They were never peaceful._

The shrill chime of the convenience store jingle calmed him as he made a beeline for the ready-made meals section.

"Hey there, young man!" greeted the old man. "Here to choke your arteries again?"

Izuku ignored him as his gaze fixated on the offending notice on the item rack. In bold letterings, the words 'OUT OF STOCK' mocked him.

The old man noticed this and chuckled. "Well, today's been a good day for business, young lad! I'm so used to having you and a bunch of teenagers walk into my store that I didn't think to order some extra!" He stroked his bushy grey whiskers. "Then again, I should have expected that those protestors would pop in for a bite. Can't fight for systemic reform on fighting spirit alone, after all. Ha hah!"

Izuku, on the other hand, shared none of the cashier's enthusiasm. "I…see…" he muttered with crestfallen eyes. He turned around with a heavy sigh. No more katsudon? What was dinner without katsudon? The greatest end to any day of honest work was always katsudon. No exceptions. He could never understand why Momo insisted on pudding so much. He had nothing against the caramel-topped dessert but it's just not filling. A bowl of rice with crispy cutlet on top? Now _that_ was filling. Alas, everything in the world operated in balance. For every good, there must be bad. This must be his karmic exchange for betraying his favorite dish for that omurice he had earlier with Nakajima. He shook his head. He made his bed and he must sleep in it. With a heart bearing the weight of his utter disappointment, he picked a bowl of instant ramen off the shelf and plopped it on the cashier's counter.

The old man, who had been observing Izuku's actions from the moment he despaired, crossed his arms and huffed, "You really like katsudon, huh?"

With a tired smile, Izuku replied, "Yeah… I guess I do."

The old man glanced at the instant ramen on his counter before pushing it aside.

"Hey, what are you—" said Izuku before he was cut off by two distinct clacks on the counter. His eyes widened in disbelief at the beauties before him as the old man smirked.

On the counter were two large bowls of the most beautiful katsudon he had ever seen. The wafting steam from the freshly cooked rice, the alluring golden-brown cutlet teasing him from under its fluffy omelette blanket sprinkled with chopped scallions. If the omurice Nakajima treated him to earlier was akin to holy matrimony of flavor, this was a gift from God himself.

"O-old man…" Izuku blurted out, not even realizing the tears trickling down his cheeks, "b-but why?"

Ruffling Izuku's hair, the old man replied, "I had a gut feeling that you'd probably be devastated at the lack of stock, but I didn't think it'd be this bad." A look of reminiscence formed in the old man's features. "Heh, to think I'd still be around to see this…"

"Hm?"

The old man waved it off. "Ah, it's nothing. Just an old timer thinking aloud. Anyways, don't even think about paying for this."

"But—"

"The same trick won't work again," he declared with a wag of his finger. "So if it helps you sleep better at night, think of it as giving the change back to you."

Izuku let out a sheepish laugh, his cheeks a bit red. "You found out, huh?"

"Of course I'd find out!" he exclaimed. "Anyone would find out if a fat stack of 50,000 yen just happened to be on their countertop!" Then, with a huff of hot air through his whiskers, he said, "Now you have no excuse to reject my generosity."

"But old man," Izuku protested, "you run a convenience store! People don't give handouts in convenience stores!"

"And youngsters should be happy to receive free meals!" he shot back.

Izuku wanted to point out the hypocrisy in him also rejecting free money but put his hands up in defeat. "Fine, fine, I won't pay. But only until the remainder of the change is gone!"

"I hear ya, I hear ya, young man. See? Listen to your elders and you get free stuff."

Izuku rolled his eyes and proceeded to pick up the bowls of lovely katsudon. "Does free stuff also include an extra bowl?"

The old man simply chuckled at him. "Oh no, no. The other bowl is for your lady friend. Such a sweetheart, that girl. Bless her heart. You can also think of those homemade katsudon as a congrats from me to you. Glad to see you're finding happiness in your life."

The convenience store had 24/7 air-conditioning but the heat from Izuku's face threatened to give off steam. "I don't…we're not… I mean… uh…"

"Just take the food and go already."

o-o

The walk back to his apartment was nothing out of the ordinary but the red from his face never went away.

"Stupid old man…" he grumbled, "Momo and I aren't like that…"

 _Aren't you already, though?_

No, he wasn't. He saved his friend from a hellhole and he's letting her stay at his place to recover. He even arranged for Chiyo to check up on her. See? Nothing out of the ordinary. The fact that they were living under one roof did not count if they were sleeping in separate rooms.

As he unlocked the door to his apartment, he called out, "I'm home!"

"Welcome back!" replied a familiar voice.

Looking up to see Momo handing him a cup of tea, he raised a brow but smiled anyway. Even though a week had passed, he still can't get over the fact that now there was someone that can reply to him. It made his humble apartment feel more homely. However, what he was _not_ expecting was the attire she wore.

"H-H-Hi Momo! W-What are you d-d-doing?" he stammered.

"Hm? Me?" she asked, tilting her head. "I was just done making us tea and making caramel pudding to stock up for the week," she replied. Indeed, Izuku could see that. Wearing his pink apron over the oversized All Might shirt she wore, he could see that she had been busy though he could not help noticing that his apron may not have had someone of Momo's stature in mind.

Shaking his head and coughing into his hand, he decided to switch the topic at hand. Sipping the green tea she made for him, he made his way into his living room and sat on his couch. "I see. By the way, the old man down by the store said hi," he said as he gingerly placed the plastic bag containing two large bowls of katsudon down on the table in front of him.

"How nice," she replied as she swung past him to sit beside him. Izuku gulped on something and he wasn't sure it was tea or spit.

"So, uhm, how did the check-up go?" he asked, mustering his will to keep looking at his tea.

"It was alright," she said, turning to him, "Chiyo seems to be a bit… _interesting_ but aside from that everything is fine. My ribs' recovering at a normal pace and no other ailments detected."

"Oh, that's great!" he said, facing her. "I knew I can count on Chiyo to help! Well, she can be a bit off-kilter at times but never let it be said that she's a terrible doctor."

"You're quite right," she replied with a chuckle. "Though I can't help but be curious when she mentioned a few things about you-"

"It's only normal for people to collect things they like!"

"What?"

"It's all a lie! Shinsou and I never danced in cosplay! It didn't happen!"

"Izu—" "Oh god, she told you about it, didn't she? Damn it, she'll never let me live it down!"

"Izuku!"

He then appeared to be snapped out of whatever outburst he had. "Huh?"

"She didn't tell me anything like that," she said as she clasped his hand in hers. "Although…" she continued with a smirk, "I'm now curious to know what that was all about."

"Ah, well, you see…"

 _BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!_

The shrill ringing of the only landed phone in the apartment cut them off.

 _BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIING!_

As soon as he heard the phone, he shot up and picked it up.

" _Hey there, it's Carla. Listen, I'll be coming home late today so could you be a pal and help take care of the kids for me? I've dropped them off at 47 H ōsu since they're having a party there. Thanks! Don't hesitate to discipline them if they get a bit too rowdy."_

He put the phone down with a click, fixed his tie and marched out of his apartment.

"Izuku, wait!" Momo called out but only the slamming of the door answered back. Just when she thought she was about to get through his walls, all she found were more questions than answers.

* * *

 ** _7:45p.m, 31st March_**

The city of Hōsu, dense in rows upon rows of train tracks and buildings. Several spires tower over the multitudinous hotels and apartment blocks, each belonging to a major news network. Being in close proximity to Tokyo, such complex transportation routes and mega broadcast towers were a necessity to ensure optimal interconnectivity with the capital. One of these broadcast towers, however, stood taller than the rest with its bright blue beacon shining above the Christmas tree landscape. At 580 meters in height, it was just roughly a hundred meters short of toppling the world-famous Tokyo Skytree in being Japan's tallest freestanding structure.

The company that it belonged to was JNN, a government-owned news broadcast agency that paled when compared to the long-established NHK. Their headquarters in this bustling city of lights was pretty much the same when compared to the broadcast tower they owned. A bland five-storey building that blended in with the rest of the architecture belonging to firms of less significant business. Even their entrance plaque fit in with nothing more than a plate of sheet metal embossed with their logo and address: 47 Hōsu.

Due to all of the above, CEO Keicho Harada found it odd that there were so many men from the Heaven's Chosen Ones occupying his building. Save for the reception area on the ground floor, each of building's floors had at least ten people standing by. This made his stomach churn. He could feel the stress clogging up his arteries. It was just the monthly 'payment' collection, after all. They split the profit between him and them and in return he would turn a blind eye towards their business in the area. Easy.

They got to do as they please and he got to back up his financial claims that the company wasn't about to go under despite poor viewership.

No, it wasn't the stress from bearing the guilt of profiting off the suffering of others. He'd thrown that away a long time ago when he leaked the plans for the Pro-Hero and police joint operation in the infamous Musutafu apartment complex tragedy two years prior. No, this stress was something else.

He asked one of the white suits what was going on. The response he got was simply, "Safety precautions, don't worry about it."

Glaring at the AK in the suit's hands, he doubted that. "I thought you louts were harping on and on about 'the superiority of the Quirked' and 'the will of the strong'," he sneered.

"What did you say?" the suit replied, his tattooed left eye beginning to shimmer yellow.

"I said, I thought you people were all about the Quirk ubermench!" Harada snapped, pointing an accusing finger. "If you really were all that confident in yourselves then there's no need for all of you to crowd my building! And what's with the all the guns? Are Russian firearms the new and hip 'Quirk' these days, hm? Did the spooky scary boogieman make you piss and shit your pants standing to the point where you can't even trust your own powers?"

It was worth noting that the other suit in the room had been signaling to him to quit his line of thinking from the moment he furrowed his brows. With his windpipe now being threatened to crumple as his entire being was lifted out of his seat by an invisible force, he regretted ignoring that signal. Judging by how the other guy sighed and shrugged, he probably shouldn't have done that.

"Oh, don't get me wrong, Mr Harada, we are _very_ much firm in our beliefs," the suit said, his tattooed eye now a glowing bright yellow as he approached the flailing CEO. "As the man responsible for overseeing operations like these, it is my job to make sure _your_ security is ensured."

Harada, beginning to look a little blue in the face, choked out a 'yes'.

"As for the gun in my hands and for those in the arms of my men," he continued, inspecting his rifle in favor of letting up his invisible grip, "they are there to help compensate the range limits of our Quirks and you, _honorable Chairman_ , happen to be very much in range for my telekinesis." He then plopped the CEO back into his seat as he leaned into his desk. "If it weren't for the fact that weak insects like you run the institutions that control the most powerful Quirk users alive, we would be running the show right now. Hell, people like you disgust me. At least our issue is with the Quirkless and the weak, not the poor."

"Okay, okay," said the CEO between coughs while rubbing his throat, "but you can't be serious about needing this much muscle for a simple transaction. This boogieman of yours is only a rumor, right? There's no way one guy in a mask is able to kill more than fifty people in a single night."

The telekinetic suit let out a mirthful snicker. Turning his back to Harada, he said, "You're right, there's no way it was done in a single night." Then, he swung back to face him with the barrel pointed at his face. "It was done in _thirty minutes._ "

"Hey, boss!" came a muffled shout as the rapping on the door broke the tension. "The guys watching the cameras saw someone entering the building!"

He looked at the time. It was 8:00pm.

"Are they carrying?" he shouted.

"Hold on… he's bare handed! Only has a regular two-piece suit on him."

Remembering the report they 'borrowed' from the Minato Mirai police station, he furrowed his brows. "Where is he now? Have someone check up on him."

"You got it, boss."

As he heard the footsteps become faint, he could only hope that it was an employee that forgot their stuff.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Hello there, everyone. As promised, new chapter came on schedule. Sort of. However, I regret to take this opportunity to announce that I will be going on a short hiatus. I will be flying off to Japan this Thursday to start my third year of study so it might take a while for me to get back into the rhythm of things to ease back into writing. Until then, I'll be getting ready for the long haul.

Have a nice day,  
KobeNiku


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